My Biggest Fear
by The Reading Elf
Summary: My joints ached and my body bruised at an alarming rate over the last few months, recent weight loss only fueling my worry. I stared into the back of my left hand, where a large, mesmerizing bruise resided. In the darkness of my room, I was left wondering if my childhood cancer was back, there to ruin my adulthood. JDA
1. Chapter 1

_Have you ever wondered why you're alive?_

_I have. _

_So many times in my life, I stopped and asked myself, "What have I ever done to deserve to be alive?" _

_I know there's only one answer; "Nothing."_

_…_

_My name is John Michael Dorian, but most people call me JD, and for the past six years, I've been a doctor at Sacred Heart Hospital. _

_I'm also a thirty-four year old cancer survivor. _

_I don't really understand how I'm still alive, truthfully. My childhood doctors told my family that I was terminal, yet a last minute bone marrow transplant between a total stranger and myself prevented my untimely demise. _

Why did I live while so many other children with cancer died?

Even with the logic to that of Spock's and all the medical knowledge in the world, I don't think I would ever completely know or understand that answer.

…

_As I look back on my childhood, I can remember always being afraid; afraid for my life and afraid of death. I was afraid I would die in my sleep and I was afraid for my mother, father and brother. I use to wonder what they would do after my death, because at that point in my life, I truly believed it was only a matter of time before I died. _

_I can remember I was afraid I wouldn't see the next sunset. I use to believe it was the most beautiful time of day, with all of the yellows, oranges, reds, and pinks in the sky – when I saw the colors, my eyes filled with pure awe. My heart would flutter at the exquisiteness and I couldn't help but hope to live another day, just so I could gaze across my room and look out the window to see the picture-like sunset. _

_The room was a dull white with barley any reason to believe a child lived in it; no posters, no pictures, no comics or television. There was only three windows in the room, one across the room, offering the best view of the sunsets, one behind me, and one on the wall next to him, each the same twelve by twelve size. The bed had child-proof siding and was surrounded by medical equipment. I knew how to use each and every piece of it. I understood the use of my oxygen mask, IV, and catheter, I knew how to give myself pain medication, and I knew that the constant beep throughout the room was the sound of my heart monitor. _

_While the days went on and people did what they did – moving, talking, changing – I stayed mostly the same. I was always small and pale and my ribs had always been in plain view. I was always bald. My fingers were always stubby and my cheeks could always be compared to a motionless skeleton. The only thing that actually changed was my health. As time went on, it progressively got worse, until finally, four years and six months after I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, the only movement I could successfully accomplish by myself was moving slightly up, using pillows to keep me still, and watching the sunset once a day. _

_My older brother, Dan, often joked that my need to watch the sunset was the only reason I survived the cancer. _

_And sometimes, with the thought of the many people who have because of the disease and by some greater force, __I__ survive – __me, not them__ - I can't help but agree with him, often my mind visioning my old bedroom window. _

…

Even a day like today, hot with a slight breeze, the sun shining bright and the color more beautiful I had ever seen it; I can't help but notice the bruises running along my forearm and around my stomach.

My knuckles ached and when I sat, I knew there was another bruise somewhere on my back. That day was a rare, normally impossible day where I missed a sunset, and instead of watching the beauty of nature take place, I stared into the back of my left hand, where a large, mesmerizing bruise resided. In the darkness of my room nearly forty-two minutes later, I was left wondering if my cancer was back.

…

_**Hey guys, hope you enjoyed the story. Just wanted you to know, I don't own the show, or its characters, and all mistakes are mine. Leave some feedback and let me know what you did or did not like. I'll update next week around this time. Thanks for reading!**_


	2. Chapter 2

I'll get the Janitor back one day, I promised myself as I sat on the ground, my bloody left knee griped in between my hands. My scooter was next to me, which was parked nicely in its spot for a total of three seconds before the older man popped seemingly out of nowhere and, in an instant of shock, I fell to the ground, scraping my knee against the ground.

Damn Janitor.

The pain started numbly, slowly rising into an agonizing throbbing sensation. Blood fell fast in a tear like fashion and the abrupt movements left the joints of my knees and hips aching. My newish blue scrubs – worn a whopping total of three times – were ruined, a large percentage of the knee area missing and the bottom edges covered in mud from the rain that had yet to stop in the last three days.

"Jee, Scooter, ya might wanna get that checked out," the Janitor said, his voice playful and brown eyes full of delight; his short, thinning brown hair messy and spiked from the rain.

I sighed, running a blood covered hand though my short black hair. My fingers were nearly white from the vise like grip I had on my knee moments before.

"'m fine," I mumbled, stumbling to stand and leaving my helmet on the seat of my scooter, not caring if it was stolen.

"You look sick," he said, crossing his arms. He sighed as he uncrossed them, looking at my soaking wet helmet with rain dripping and sliding on it, and then back to me, before taking it into his right hand and opening my seat – I tried to hid the shock in my brown eyes, because how did he know about that trunk in on my scooter?! – only to set the protective gear into the space and closing the seat.

"It's a little cold out," I admitted, trying to keep my voice leveled and calm. I swung my backpack against my back and slowly walked into the large, bright building in the night. I had the midnight shift. Once in the hospital, I barley registered the Janitor walking past me, brushing past my shoulder while I searched for the nearest restroom.

Once inside the men's room, I went into the stall on the left – there were only two in there. I wondered why there weren't more stalls in the bathroom, but quickly put away the question before I could daydream my own answer.

I shivered as my clothing covered gluteus medius touched the cold, hallow sensation of porcelain toilet. Zipping open my black book bag, I grabbed my first aid kit and took out a tan Band-Aid, the size large and square. My fingers shook with pain as I cleaned and covered my battle wound, and I thanked whoever listening that I had spare scrubs in my locker. They were older than all his other scrubs, and more faded, but still, something dry and clean and _whole_ was better than nothing.

…

Seventeen hours later, I stood nervously on a scale in Turk and Carla's apartment. The scale was technical Carla's, and I was under strict orders to not touch the object, but I do every now and then; you know, to make sure I kept a healthy weight with the long hours at work and to track all cancer-like symptoms like weight loss.

Seeing that I lost nearly nineteen pounds in the last month, however, didn't help brighten my spirits from last night. I felt sick, I knew sudden weight loss was never good. I was a doctor, I was trained with this knowledge, and I just knew –

It felt like a dumpster was dropped into my stomach. It was rising. I moved as suddenly as the feeling in my stomach, jumping off the scale and across the small room, falling onto my knees and dumping the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

I felt better when I was done. I got up, got dressed into new scrubs, and went back into the bathroom. I've been working late and waking early, working nearly seventeen hours a day. I barley have time to eat three meals a day, let alone two. I would just need to find more time to eat, that's all. I looked at myself in the mirror, at my sleep deprived eyes, bedhead, and high cheekbones that steadily grew hollower with each passing day, and nodded. "There's nothing wrong with me," I whispered out loud, flinching at the roughness of my voice. "I'm a doctor," I added, almost trying to convince myself, "I would know if there was something going on."

I left the apartment after that, grabbing my keys off the kitchen table.

…

_**Almost done. **_


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, I may admit, I could be wrong. It's been over a week since I threw up in the apartment. My knees had become bruised within the hour of my fall to the ground in the bathroom. My joints in my knuckles, knees, back, and hip hurt. The pain was breathtaking, and others have seen a difference in me. Turk, my wonderful Chocolate Bear, had become fearful for my health.

I've been nauseous lately, more than once losing my lunch in the men's bathroom. My room, where I now resided, was small and messy. A trash can was next to me on the floor, my bruised back leaning against the side of my bed. I wore a large, white t-shirt and stripped blue boxers, my knees close to my chest and my arms around the two long limbs. I was cold, but my skin was hot with a fever.

Something was wrong. I know that now. It wasn't the first time that week I developed a fever at night. My stomach was aching, low and dull, and it was as if my gut was telling me to go see a doctor. My head was dazed, nauseated, and every time I breathed, I could feel the brief moment of nothingness. It was as if I was blanking out. Tomorrow, I promised myself, tomorrow I would call someone. My breathing was heavy and my throat constricted the moment I convinced myself to see a doctor.

My biggest fear was fastly becoming a reality – my cancer…it may be back.

…

_**Sorry for the short chapter; it was just fill-in. The story is almost done and I hope you enjoyed it so far. Please leave a comment and tell me how you feel about my little story and what you think could be done to better it. Also, Doctor Cox and several other characters of the Scrubs cast will be making an appearance in the next chapter. Okay, thank you. See you next week. **_


	4. Chapter 4

By the age of thirty-two, I could easily describe anyone in my family; all besides for Dan, my older brother. He's a jerk, but he's there for me every now and then. Well…only on the days I call him. And today would have been a perfect example of that, if he was answering my calls.

The jackass was ignoring my very _important_ calls. They're so important, in fact, that I took a sick day from work, just so I could call Dan and tell him the news. Doctor Cox, my boss, easily believed my half-ass excuse about not feeling well since I have been late nearly every single day for the past week.

I sat on the couch, waiting for my phone to ring. I had called him twenty four times in the last hour I have been awake. A few minutes passed and I laid on the couch, my feet hanging over the sides. I covered my brown eyes with my right forearm. I allowed my head to sit on a navy blue and square, uncomfortable pillow.

My mind wondered off.

I knew as a doctor the possibilities of cancer returning in any patient, child or adult. My form of leukemia was near deadly in it's time and adult leukemia was bad, returning or not, for any person. My throat tightened at the thought. I could be dying right now.

Maybe, if he continued to ignore my calls, I would send Dan a cupcake. A cupcake sounded good enough. A_ Hey big bro, my cancer might be back, but I'm not dead yet, _cupcake. Turk could send a cake if worse led to worse. I could already imagine that image.

Weirdly enough, thinking of sweets made me in the mood for a bowl of cold, creamly vanilla ice-cream.

And, with that thought, I somehow fell into a dreamless sleep.

…

_Hey, Soul Sister_ filled my ears nearly two hours later, according to the clock on my phone, anyways. To me, it felt as if I was asleep for fifteen minutes, _maybe_ twenty minutes if I counted how long my body sat on the couch.

I jumped into a sitting position, bad idea, I realized a moment too late as my brain danced inside my skull, leaving my vision filled with rough edged black dots. I fumbled blindly with my hand to find my phone on the wooden surface of the table, only finding it after I tried to answer my keys.

"What the hell, little brother," Dan yelled over the phone, his voice deep and worried. "You called me, like, twenty times!"

"I called you twenty four times," I answered. "And hi, how are you on this fine day, Dan?"

He ignored my question, for obvious reasons, and cleared his throat. "Well don't do it again; it's more annoying than you would think. So, why'd ya call," his voice now whiny, almost sounding more of a teenager rather than a man over thirty.

"I called," I said, my voice dragging out the second word, "because I think _it's_ back." I could hear Dan take a breath of air, already going to question me, and I knew he knew what I was talking about; I clarified a second before he could speak. "The cancer, I mean."

There was a lot a doctor could tell from their patient's breathing. Deep, calm breathing was good, and shallow or quick breathing was bad. From a little brother to big brother perspective, Dan's calm, normal breathing broke me out into a cold sweat.

Did he hear me?

After a long, horrifying and breath taking moment, I could hear a quick, sad sigh and the sound of long fingers combing hair. "Are you," he asked, his voice distant and cracking, "how can you be sure?"

"I'm a doctor-"

"You shouldn't diagnose yourself, you've told me that more than once," my big brother told me accusingly, almost hopeful.

"Weight loss, joint pain, easy bruising – exactly like last time, Dan." I stood, now pacing in Carla and Turk's small living room, the only thing watching me was my average sized, stuffed golden retriever, Rowdy. "I fell on my knees last week and they didn't stop bleeding for nearly a day. It was just a scratch and there was blood everywhere and it won't heal. It's still there! I didn – I didn't – oh god." Everything sounded worse when I spoke out loud. My throat, that god forsaken piece of anatomy, was once again tightening and my eyes stung with the pain of unshed tears. "Dan," I crocked in a mournful and scared tone, "what should I do?"

There was once again a pause in their conversation; a long moment of silence where he could hear his heart beat steadily. "What else, man," Dan asked. "I mean, you were always a delicate little flower. It could be anything, right?"

"I…I – uh – I've been tired. Really tired. Like daydreaming on my scooter and falling asleep at the nurses' station tired," I paused in conversation, still pacing, concentrating on my symptoms. "My knuckles are always hurting. My back, from c-spine all the way down to my l-5, are in pain." I quickly made a fist with my right hand, scrunching my face in pain after a short second. "I just don't know what to do."

"Listen, Johnny – you listening?"

I sat, nodding my head and offering a small _uh-huh _when I realized he wouldn't be able to see my movements.

"I'm gonna take the next flight out and I'll be at your house in the next six hours, ya hear? We'll take a taxi right to the hospital and get you tested, right then and there. We'll," the older man said we, not me, "be fine."

"Thanks, bro."

"Don't go anywhere."

"I'll be on the couch," I said, nodding my head once again, relaxing against the rough fabric of cushions, and allowing Dan to hang up the phone on the other end of the line.

…

Exactly five hours later, I was in the bathroom, throwing up my breakfast when the door to the apartment opened. "Johnny," a voice called in panic. "I'm here early! Where the hell are you?"

I stood up, my legs a similar substance to jello, and quickly flushed the toilet. I could see from the rounded mirror that I had deep bags beneath my eyes, dark and bruised. My cheeks looked hallow. I don't remember losing this much weight. "I-I'm coming," I called, my voice lower than I anticipated. Half a second later, my fingers clutched the cold metal of the doorknob and slowly, I opened the door, only to see my big brother in a green t-shirt and dark blue jeans on the couch I had resided on nearly ten minutes ago. His brown hair was a mess and his brown eyes were wide in panic.

"Sorry," I muttered, my voice raw from my bathroom escapade.

"Were you throwing up?"

"Yeah," I said hazily, almost in a daze as I stared at the dull white wall in front of me. My body shifted, moving back and forth, and I felt like a leaf in the wind. I saw Dan move from the corner of my right eye. He was slow in his actions, almost fearful and more than slightly hesitant, when he touched my shoulder to steady me. It worked.

"We should get this over with," he said. The sun was bright with the hot afternoon day, bright blues and clouds in the sky. "You should grab a jacket, it's, uh – it's windy."

Dan was lying. The trees were freshly blooming with new leaves and flowers, and the calendar said mid-May. The older man wasn't wearing a jacket, but, nevertheless, I dragged my feet into my messy room. My black windbreaker was on my bed and I took it, sliding my arms into it in a zombie like fashion.

We were in a yellow taxi and heading to the hospital within three minutes.

…

"Coxie," Dan called to the older, mid-forties doctor. The man looked angry, his eyebrows turning in a frown. He had curly red hair with a thinning hairline and dark green eyes. Before he could say something rude – he was Doctor Cox, he always said something rude – Dan, ignoring my protests, dragged me into the same proximity of the doctor.

"Could ya do'a blood test on Johnny here?" My brother prompted in my direction, giving Doctor Cox his first view of me in over a week. I saw his eyes widen slightly at the sight of me; at my pale, now clammy skin – probably fever ridden from all of the movements of this morning – and near hallow cheeks.

"Well," he answered in a fake happy tone, a large, fake, and truthfully frightening, smile on his face, "if it isn't the big brother! What's the matter with the baby sister? Is it a tummy ache," he asked, turning to me. "Or maybe it's those dreaded stomach cramps again? I've told you before they're normal for teens your age, Rosa."

"Hi, Doctor Cox," I mumbled and looked to the floor for comfort, my voice monotone as I turned away from Dan and leaned against the tall, cool surface of the nurses' station.

"Be nice to Bambi," Carla, my favorite Latina with dark caramel skin and even darker hair, said, looking up from a manila folder with large brown eyes. "And honestly, JD, you know it's your day off, right," she asked with a soothing voice. She had obviously missed the first part of the conversation between Dan and Coxie.

"Yeah, I-I," not a good way to start a conversation, I realized. "Thanks, Carla," I added a half-hearted smile at the end of the sentence.

"Are you alright?" Her eyebrows knitted in worry and she walked around the oval nurses' station and stood in front of me. Her frown became larger as she took in my appearance; disheveled clothing, deep, dark bags under my normally bright brown eyes, and pale and pained skin. I could bet that my cheeks were tinted pink if my warmth in my head had anything to do with it. Carla looked to Dan. "He has a fever." Then, looking back to me, she said, "You should go home, Bambi."

"Yeah, Jenna, go home; can't I ever have a relaxing day at work?"

"Sorry, Doctor Cox."

"He's not going anywhere," Dan said, his voice hard and threatening, crossing his muscular arms. "You're gonna take a sample of my brother's blood, and then, you're gonna test it – and _then_, you're gonna give us the damned results!"

"Dan," I said hastily, standing straight without the help of the object I previously leaned on. My movements were fast and left my head spinning.

"No, little brother! This is _serious_! Cox is your godforsaken mentor and he _is_ going to help you." I briefly wondered where he learned how to speak in such an intimidating tone. Seriously, he wasn't like that as a kid.

"Excuse me," the older doctor said in a high pitched voice. "You can n_hot_ tell me what to do it this hospital. I don't know wh-"

"Dan," a girly voice practically squeaked from behind us. "What're you doing here?"

"Hi, Elliot," he said politely, not moving his glaring brown eyes from Doctor Cox's.

"Not now, Barbie," Coxie growled.

The woman doctor, Elliot Reid, joined the group of four. She wore her favorite blue bra, and matching panties (I knew from many years of an on and off again relationship with her) because today was Thursday and that meant she wore her happy-day clothing. She wore her comfortable, favorite blue scrubs that matched her eyes and her dark blond hair was up in a high ponytail. Her white lab coat was on with a stethoscope around her neck.

"What's going on," she asked.

"I'll, uh, get back to you to that, El," I told her, hoping desperately she would leave and finish her rounds but knowing she wouldn't.

"JD," she said in surprise. We're in the off part of our relationship, and we rarely saw each other anymore, besides for here, at the hospital. We were usually on the same side of the spectrum, as doctor and doctor, but as I stood there, I suddenly understood how an ER patient must feel; surrounded by doctors and in a large, cold hospital.

It was scary, and I was…I was scared.

"And you look like crap," she was saying and I realized I must have missed some of the conversation.

My brother and coworkers looked taller, and I felt as though I was becoming smaller as they towered over me with worried eyes. Their voices began to cloud and I wondered if I had cotton in my ears. After seconds of staring, their bodies began to mold together, creating a strange canvas of colors. My head was spinning again.

I heard someone call my name, but my tongue felt like lead in my mouth and my vision was becoming darker and darker, and when I tried to blink to clear my vision, I was somehow on the ground.

"Ba – hea – us?"

"Wha – 'th m'tter?"

"Alri – Jen – tha – enough."

My back was cold, and I jumped when someone grabbed my side, pushing me onto my left side and my arm under my head. I was in the recovery position. I had blacked out and I was on the ground. My thoughts were strange and there were more hands on my neck and my head – I found myself feeling more confused with each passing second.

A sudden light passed through my eyes - what was happening. Why?

I was scared and confused and…

_Was it getting harder to breath?_

…

"Johnny?"

The voice was sudden and broke through the abrupt and sudden darkness. It was like I was in limbo and then, finally, I was aware again.

What was happening? I could only see darkness. Were my eyes open? I didn't know. A moment passed and I heard a beep, followed by another a second later. It was a repetitive noise that helped the world of darkness become lighter.

"…waking up? Johnny?"

That was Dan, his voice more rough than normal, but most definitely Dan. A warm feeling swept through my body and I felt nine years old again with a big brother who was always watching over me.

"That's it, you're almost there. Just open your eyes."

Three minutes filled with steady beeps from my heart monitor and with the guide of my older brother leading me back into consciousness, my brown eyes opened; and promptly closed them in pain as the bright light flooded my vision.

"That'a boy, Johnny," Dan said with pride in his voice. "Can you hear me? Johnny? Doctor Cox," he yelled when my eyes once again blinked to life. "He's awake!"

I didn't want to open my eyes again. I was tired and just wanted to sleep and yet it felt as if I lost another ten pounds as I slept and I wanted to jump up and travel the world. I didn't know what to do.

"Alright, Newbie, the lights are off. Open your eyes."

Well, that solved my problem, I thought as I did the requested actions.

"Was that so hard, Jessica?"

…

Later, I was told I once again have acute myeloid leukemia, just after I thought I was feeling better again. Dan told me at sunset, Doctor Cox standing in the doorway with crossed arms and another angry look on his face. None of us looked at each other. I stared out the window from my bed, my stomach bubbling with confusion and anger and pain, and I once again felt like a sick child. Sitting up in my bed, I watched as the skies became a large array of blues, pinks, reds, and yellows.

My brother was speaking, saying something about fighting and how I could do this, but I ignored him. So did Doctor Cox.

Twilight was falling fast, and if I could, I would have scooped the sunset into a bowl; I bet it would have tasted like Neapolitan ice cream.

…

_**Finished. The Neapolitan ice cream bit was a quote by Jarod Kintz, **__**"If I could lick the sunset, I'll bet it would taste like Neapolitan ice cream."**_

_**Leave a review and tell me what you guys thought. You know, what you liked, didn't like, or even what you hated. I enjoy criticism. Thanks for your support and have a good day, friends. **_


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